


Ideal

by Onlymostydead



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe GTA, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Fake AH Crew, Gender non-conforming Jack, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's about one sentence, Multi, just tagging that to be safe, ryan centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is always changing.<br/>The time, the city, the name, the crew he's working with.<br/>And none of it is really Ideal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ideal

It was never ideal.

James knew that from the beginning as he set the house on fire. He left the bodies to burn where they had fallen, carrying the butcher knife with him still. His grip on the bloodied handle, as shaky and uncertain as it was, felt like a lifeline.  
The blood on the knife and his hand had dried by the time he stood and watched the house go down in flames, holding the two together.  
James was finally alone.  
No, that name left a ringing in his ears as he heard their voices and felt their hands on him.  
Clenching his teeth and tightening his grip on the knife until he knuckles turned white he turned away.  
No, not James.  
Ryan.

It still wasn't ideal, but it would work.

Ryan knew that as he moved across the country, stealing cars and whatever else he needed to do so.  
He had to get away. He had to.  
One late night in a run down motel in Texas he turned on the TV.  
An armed robbery.  
The reporter covered the topic with wide eyes and quick speech, it was the local news, he noted. Not much must happen here.  
"The robbery has been linked to several others in the area, all committed by an unknown person dressed in all black. This Vagabond, as he's being called-"  
Ryan switched off the TV.  
Listening to news reports of ones own crimes was a bit narcissistic, after all.  
Vagabond.  
He chuckled to himself.  
Yes, that would do nicely. 

It was never ideal.

The Vagabond knew this now as he scanned the most recent crew from behind his mask.  
It was yet another one-time deal, and he couldn't say that bothered him. Each crew seemed more and more petty and shallow, and with each one he found himself withdrawing more.  
Ryan came out less and less.   
It was just the Vagabond. 

It wasn't ideal.

The Vagabond had known what he was doing when he set up his identity. A mask to hide his face and only one rule:  
No survivors.  
Now he felt like it was falling apart, the killing the only thing that kept him feeling alive. It was the only thing that made the pounding in his head stop, that quieted the ringing in his ears. The shedding of other people's blood was what made his heart beat.  
Each crew was worse and worse.  
At first it was just them.   
He was always treated fairly well. At worst as just more muscle for hire, at best feared. As time went on however, it turned to him.  
It.  
The Vagabond just wasn't a person anymore, it was a legend, a ghost. An abstract concept that few try to understand.  
And fewer succeed.  
The Vagabond was a monster.  
A monster you paid a certain amount to do unspeakable things, a monster that never complained, no matter how bad the job.  
An amoral monster that did anything for a certain price.

It was not ideal.

The Fake AH Crew.  
It was barely a real name, after all. How had they quickly become one of the most formidable crews in Los Santos?  
The Vagabond had no clue.  
He silently listened as they went over the plan for the heist yet once more.  
Then again, he was always silent these days. You hardly hire a monster to talk to you, after all.  
Glancing around the room explained a bit more how this crew out of all of them had become so powerful.

Cracking his knuckles and chewing on his lip like there was no tomorrow was Mogar, leaning forward in his chair, his foot tapping on the ground. He was quite a bit younger than expected, he couldn't have been older than 21.  
Interesting.

To his right, with a hand resting daintily on Mogar's thigh, was a young man he had been told was the best hacker in the country.  
He had responded to this with an indignant squawk and a heavily accented voice insisting he was the best in the world.  
He was also quite young, barely 20, Vagabond guessed.

Sitting on the floor between the two on the floor, fidgeting with a handgun was a smaller man, his chin covered in just a bit of stubble. Even with this he could be guessed around 19-20- or he simply had an extreme baby face. He had been introduced as a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, which the Vagabond took to mean that he was inexperienced.   
A wild card.

Then there was the reason the heist was being explained yet again. The boy curled up on the couch couldn't be older than 19. If it wasn't for the baggy purple hoodie he wore and pink sniper rifle leaning against his chair the Vagabond would never have believed this scrawny kid was Brownman. He had ignored the plan the first couple of times, playing on his DS, which was also pink, instead.  
The kid was rather obviously high, and he couldn't imagine that was helping him any. 

Sitting calmly next to the boss was yet another young person, they could be guessed around their mid twenties, maybe just a bit older than himself. They sat up straight, adding small bits of information the boss missed as he huffed out the plan yet again.  
Strangely enough they still seemed quite patient, hands resting casually in their lap. Their exquisitely done makeup also boasted a certain level of patience and precision, or simply a skilled artist.

Then there was the boss.  
Geoff Ramsey paced as he talked, equal parts with his hands and his voice.   
The Vagabond had quite honestly expected a bit more of the crime lord. A calmer, more in-control demeanor perhaps. A bit less swearing.  
Despite this, he still felt like a leader, his posture strong in his faded suit, each step one of authority. Yet not an ounce of his tone could be taken as condescending. He seemed just as jittery as the rest of the crew.

They all seemed so... Domestic. Never before had he encountered a crew that acted so much like a family.  
How interesting.

It really wasn't ideal.

The Vagabond had been working with them for weeks now, almost against his will.  
He really did want to work with them, but as much as he did he was terrified of what could happened.  
His ears rang with what could happen.  
But they welcomed him with open arms, ready to embrace who he was as a whole, not just the person or the monster.

It wasn't really ideal.

Geoff still lost himself in his work, forgetting to take care of himself in the process. Jack still worried themself into the ground. Michael still had problems realizing his own worth. Gavin still felt he was a burden to the rest of them. Ray still relied heavily on his assorted vices rather than the crew. Jeremy still felt as if he might not belong.

But while it wasn't really ideal, it was real.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love <3


End file.
